


Adélaïde and the smallest skeleton bud.

by Uidelsibwrites



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Child Abuse, Eating Disorders, Frisk Needs A Hug, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, LGBT+ headcanons, Multi, Nonbinary Chara and Frisk, Older Frisk, Panic Attacks, Sans Has Issues, Sans Has Night Terrors, Sans Needs A Hug, Selectively Mute Frisk, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Swearing, adélaïde has adhd cptsd & ocd, heavy horror settings to come in later chapters, no csa, sans is autistic has cptsd, will add tags later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uidelsibwrites/pseuds/Uidelsibwrites
Summary: Adélaïde is a proud little girl. She's proud of her grades, proud of being a fast reader, proud of knowing how to cook canned food and [...] of not crying loudly, of being good at faking sleep...Sansy #714F8 is a defective bitty.They both are too small for this rash world, and are too scared to survive on their own, and curling on themselves slowly, without even noticing.Frisk is lost, and trying to get back scrapes of a past life together.The world went upside down and the players and creators turned it once again, upside down one too many times.Some old friends survived, but scattered, and lost, too.Story takes place in south Canada, and moves around a little.((please mind the trigger warnings in the tags; reminder that this story has child abuse and a lot of harsh things happening to sansy/pea. none of in was written for your enjoyment. this is a story where satisfaction is in fighting back, fleeing and recovering, together.))





	1. chap 1. kind of an impromptu meeting.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first published work here, and first serious thing i write down on undertale, i guess. it's kinda meta, definitely rough, and taking liberties, and i like it. tag along if you want, and don't hesitate to point out mistakes. this isn't beta read, btw. i'll try to put tw in each chapter's notes? for now, we start easy, with some good old fashioned exposure. if you can't relate to Adélaïde's feelings and don't understand them, i'm glad, because i can.
> 
> btw, if this seems critical of /some things/, don't worry, it is.
> 
> tw self-hatred fueled berating, a starting panic attack, anxiety, and mentions of starving and heavy tiredness, slavery, and (self-)dehumanization, but for a non-human character, too.
> 
> it has sarcasms and a delusional tone because the narrator is either indirectly the characters, or an echo of a belief in-world.

chap 1. kind of an impromptu meeting.

 

Adélaïde is a proud little girl. She's proud of her grades, proud of being a fast reader, proud of knowing how to cook canned food and mac & cheese with fresh pasta and cheese, proud of not crying loudly, of being good at faking sleep and at making her bruises invisible. She's also very good at taking care of herself overall, even if she can't clean her stained clothes to hide the worst of it very well. But she's like a warrior ! And a spy. Actually, she's like an adult. She's very proud of that. She's a strong little girl.

 

Sansy #714F8 is a defective ownerless fugitive _Bitty (TM) sub-brand:_ _Sansy_ a.k.a. _Classic_ a.k.a. _Original_ a.k.a. _Undertale_ , from the famous _Bitty Collection by Mama_ , the two or so years old corporation that sells miniscule living monster pets* ( _*origins unknown_ ) all around the world, to owners to play with and use them and care for them as they please, as Mommies and Daddies, for a low price of $4000 ! They used to make a varied amount of models, from minibots to lizards without arms, but for unknown reasons, discontinued all but the skeleton products, answering to demand, probably ! And Sansy #714F8 is a defective ownerless fugitive _Bitty (TM) sub-brand_ that is also brotherless, but not really, because he has 713 other brothers, and that's only counting the _sub-brand Papayas_ from Factory 8 ! And right now he's tired, walking to a city he sees in the horizon, through tall grass he hurts himself pushing away, but not really, ah ah, because he can't actually be tired or hurt, he's a _Bitty (TM) sub-brand: Sansy_ , not an actual living being !

   

Adélaïde is kinda sick right now. She can't stop sweating, and there's something bulging in her throat, and she can't really tell if she's gonna cry or vomit, and she's pacing in the empty cold (not that cold, it's barely November and it's not even raining outside, the sky's just grey) living room, her mismatched rainbow and star socks too thin against the tiles. She’s also kinda worried, but she knows she still got three hours before daddy comes home from his job (five for mommy) and she doesn’t get how that works, but she gets less sick reminding herself that, when that happens. She doesn’t really know what it is though. But that’s how it works so she works with that. She’s probably just forgetting something.

 

Sansy #714F8’s small feet are sinking in the mud, and the still humid grass’ air is heavy on him, and it’s hard to mimic breathing under the cold and the effort both. The city is growing bigger and getting nearer, but way too damn slowly, and his fat stupid legs keep shaking and he’s sweating so much he’s surprised he didn’t dissolve in dust on the spot. But he has to get closer, to get in the damn fucking city, find a shop, look in the trash, eat, repeat, find a place to catch a few zzz’s, and get out. Maybe even hitch a ride if this time he doesn’t freeze up like a dumb shit in front of the starting car again. So he keeps going because he went this far and being a stupid baby isn’t gonna help his case and nobody’s gonna appear and. Yeah. Enough of that. He wipes off the nasty sweat from his bone temples and brows with his ratty puffy sleeves.

 

Adélaïde’s still pacing, but all around the house, now. She checks the fridge again, and no, the peeled vegetables are here alright, and yes she did clean the counter and set the table, three plates, six forks, knives and spoons each, plus glasses, of course, and she didn’t forget to buy bread, no, it’s on the table, wrapped in the bread cloth, so it won’t go dry, and she checked twice her notebook, she did do all her homework for tomorrow and after tomorrow, and after-after tomorrow, she checked again by going through all her books, and once more, because she’s dumb and as soon as she closes them she forgets stuff, and she’s not sure if she did things right at all. But it’s not her homework, she did it (badly but still), it’s not kitchen duty, and she took care of the...garden ? Wait ! No, she didn’t ! Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit- the clock is ticking, she scrambles to get her coat and rubber gloves, she gotta weed the pots.

 

Sansy #714F8 doesn’t give a shit about anything anymore, he’s gone, he’s probably dusting as he stomps (more like pitter patters pitifully in sky’s piss) in more tall fucking grass. He can’t see shit, he’s soggy wet from sweat, and his joints ache- he’s heard that there was a special Bitty oil but never knew if that’s true, he’d try that right now though- and he just wants to curl up and die now. But he can’t. Right ? He gotta keep going. It’d help if he could see what’s in front of him, stars fuck it ! He knows he’s out of the grass field- why even have those ??- and in the city, though, that’s good. He keeps going.

 

She weeds out as fast as she can, she wasted time, that’s why she got worried, it’s weeding day today, and she ! forgot ! and she got so many plants to take care of oh shit- but she has no time to start crying, and she busies herself.

 

He trudges through, he pushed, he climbs, his skull is ringing and pounding, and he’s starting to think he got lost in a grass loophole out of space and time. He can hear shuffling near him, did he stumble in a garden ?

 

Her eyes are blurry with tears. She’s not gonna make it. She can’t catch up with the time she wasted. She can’t see what she’s doing, she doesn’t actually look, she acts by memory, she’s not doing it well, daddy is going to be so disappointed.

 

His limbs are heavy with and stressed out. He’s not gonna go further. He can’t make it to the… wherever he isn’t right now. He can’t see shit, he’s too small, he’s always been, bullshitting his way around people taller than him, and his brother isn’t around anymore.

 

He slumps down, but too brutally, he didn’t fucking think. Great. Now his ass hurts too ! Whatever. He’s just gonna stay here. Maybe cry a little. Sleep. Die. Whatever.

 

She’s snatching blindly at a huge patch of weed, minding to not damage the flowers, when she collides with some rock.

“Ow ! Shit-” She flinches, hugging her forearm, that was a big one !

“wah-fffk-” She hears a whine erupt from the weed patch simultaneously? And then, weird? keening? sounds ?

 

Adélaïde hunches over, slowly reaches out with a hand in the green muddy mess, and feels for something. But when she expects to meet some animal, fur, and a warmth under which beats a pulse, her fingers brush against a more ivory like, but spongy ??? surface, and ratty cloth material, and it’s not exactly warm, but it’s definitely not cold… but sticky ? And.Wow. Is that…

“A fairy ?” She crushes the lots of plants between them in which it hid.

 

Now he’s exposed, he can also see his assailant, and. _oh gods. it’s a child._ He doesn’t know why he panics, he doesn’t get why he got this surge of ice down and up his spine, but that’s more than enough for him to scramble away, until he processes what the child whispered, and f r e e z e s.

“what ?? NO ! i’m- i’m not a f-fairy ! i’m a b-bittyy _yyy_ …” Wait no he should just have gone with their misconception why did he have to set himself up like that, him and his dumb shit mouth-

 

“OH I KNOW BITTIES !” Holy shit they’re loud. But okay, that means his cover wouldn’t have lasted long anyways, he guesses, and aaaaaa why they wiggle so much.

“THEY’RE TINY PEOople and i saw them-you, but not you- ahah, on TV commercials and- andinamagazineoncewheretherewasthatarticlesab _outnewflashyfancythings_ \- uh, hum. You’re pretty cool.”

“h-hm.” Okay. So that’s nice and all, but he’s got shit to do. So he’s just. Gonna go around that… child.

“Where are you going ?” They ask in a small voice. He still startles, because stupid nerves, and steals a glance at their face. Uh. Sad eyes. Well he got no time to be played doll, so uh, bye sad child. He just keeps on fighting his way through the grass.

“Do you know where you’re going ?” They ask again. At that he stops. They’re still on their knees, in the mud, looking at him with very sad eyes.

“... where am i ?” That might be a good start.

“Oh ! You’re in my dad’s garden ! And you were in a patch of bad weed i gotta clean. Hm. I wonder how you came in here. Did you slip through the fence ? It’s a very messy fence after all…”

He doesn’t remember crossing any fence… Wait no, that’s not what he wants to know !

“ok, ok no, is this- is this a city ?” Ew he’s sweating a lot more now, why does he always do that around people.

“Uh, yeah yeah ! An average one, smaller than the capital, but still developed with a lot of shops and stuff, three dentists, two barbers, one big bakery, an university and a school- my school ! but uh, that’s not in this part of the town ‘cus’, it’s like, a resident neighbour, although that house was here long before it, it’s a very old house !!... But yeah, it’s-it’s a city…” She’s trying to focus on her words as she goes back to her work, but she stumbles a little, and her words aren’t very clear, and she sputters at the end, so she hopes she doesn’t sound too stupid. And she knows she should probably shut up now, but she feels like it’d be bad to just let them go on alone, they don’t look in good shape.

“D-do you need anything ?”

They seem to be in deep thought, and shaking on their tiny foots in tiny shoes, with a sad frown on their tiny face.

 

He stalls at answering. He does, but he doesn’t want anything from that kid, from nobody. That means owing shit and he’s done with that ! But he can’t feel his legs and he can’t _not_ feel his fake guts clutching on empty air, so he stalls, and doesn’t actually answer.

 

“Uuuh, I, um, you can. You can stay here for a while, if you want, I uh, gotta finish. this” the kid gestures at the green disaster before them “and then we, I mean if you want, otherwise it’s just I, can go inside. It’s warmer there.”

“uh.” He needs to keep going, he said he needs to keep going, but to be honest, he’s dying for nearly any kind of warmth right now. A violent shiver crosses him at the thought alone.

“s-sure. if you show me where…”

“AYE ! THAT’S GREAT !” Their exclamation sends him back on his achey butt - _violent little twerp_ \- he bristles half-heartedly inwardly. They don’t see it, as they’re turned away from him, back to whatever business they were at before they hit him. His plexus still pounds from that, and he massages it gingerly, and touch the place on his skull that they brushed earlier, thoughtful.

“Sooo huh, I just have to do that and finish it it’ll take me a couple of minutes maybe and we can go inside and after i clean up i can even cook you something !”

 

Does this kid even breathe. He’d sigh if he wasn’t so enthralled at the offer of food to really put any thought in it. He just scoots some and stays sitting near where he fell, watching them pull at the vegetation, kind of feeling bad(guilty?)- like he should help ? nah !- and kind of really fucking confused as to why the kid is so into vandalizing this specific patch of their garden, when there’s weed literally everywhere. But humans and their antics.

 

When they seem to judge they’re done, they start sprinting to the glass door of the brick house he supposed theirs, stops abruptly, nearly falls over themselves, rushes back to him, out of breath, their pale skin flushed and their long hair all over their face, and owl-eyed in… sheepishness ? Meh.

“I-uh, hum, I’m thinking- guessing I should… take you there ?”

As in what ? Carry him ? No way in hell he’s getting touched and taken above neck-breaking height by a spacey kid skedaddling all the way to their house.

“... i’ll walk there.”

 

And so begins a long (ten solid minutes for a ten meters long distance) travel, during which the kid seems adamant on going at his rhythm, even when they’re as fidgety as it gets, and keep eyeing the door in obvious -nervousness ?- impatience. Halfway there, Sansy #714F8 just sighs as he slows down.

“you know you don’t have to wait for me, right ?”

“Well ah- yeah ! But seems it’s hard for you, and night’s falling, so-”

“i can see the door just fine from there, i won’t get lost.” Yet they keep hesitating on insisting. Another sigh. “you can just. go ahead and get yourself fixed-” ah shit he meant get proper-clean, he meant clean, humans aren’t bitties, shit he forgets “a-and u-uh… do what-whatever you said- planned.” He lowers his gaze to his ruined shoes, timid. But the human doesn’t seem to catch on his mistake, and chirps and dances in place.

“Ahh yeah, yeah sure I can do that, just, ah- meet me there ? Okay okay, thanks you !” And then they’re gone. He sighs, really sighs here. What’s he getting himself into ?

 

Ah, he’ll just leave by dawn, stomach full, if not before.


	2. chap 2. a Stupid...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you ever think you're calling yourself stupid too much?
> 
> tw for food, self-hatred, self-trash talking, emotional abuse, abusive father (starts when a new character comes in), minor self-harm and panic attacks.

chap.2 A Stupid…

Once he makes it to the door, he allows himself to slop against it. He’s heaving like a dying dog. He. mis-estimated. the distance. to the door. And didn’t see the FUCKING STEP, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID NOT TRIMMED ENOUGH GRASS. That thing may be nothing to tall stupid humans, but it took him five minutes -five minutes- to get over that stupid height. And now his stupid back feels like it’s br-  
“what the fuck !”

He falls skull first on something that feels like a rough carpet and smells like… dust ?? Sansy #714F8 jumps on all fours, in a frenzy, and stabs with shaky eyelights the volatile grit… that is- that is just dirt… eugh, he’s tired of his bullshit thoughts and shitty reflexes. It feels like he’s as sprung up as a rubber band ready to snap. And now his head smarts as much as his butt. heh eh eh, fits though. He does have a buttface after all.  
“heh-eh eh eh eh, hh!”  
“-ry I really didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t see you down there- are, are you laughing ?”  
“heh-uh ?” oh. They’re here. And fidgety again? Great. what’re they babbling about this time ? He squints up at them.  
“...I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to make you fall, you were just taking so long, and I didn’t see you out when I looked, and I was scared because it’s very cold at night, and it was dark out already and I-I couldn’t see you at all, so I opened the door, but I made you fall and- i’m sor-sorryyyy--” They sniffle. 

Oh come on. No. He’s not a babysitter. What does he do with a crying child ? Wait.

“you saying i fell because you opened the door ?” Wow that’s dumb. He’d probably get hissy about it if he wasn’t that exhausted and achey. 

They flinch at his blank tone anyway.  
“H-hm.” They nod. Uh. They sure sobered fast. They’re sitting near him, crouched hands on their knees, looking down, with sad eyes again. Looking reddish at the rims (kinda like his)... urg. Nevermind. He can’t deal with that right now. Can he just sleep here ? The doormat is comfy dry enough, and it is warmer right behind the doorstep… Even though the stupid door is still wide open. Uuurg. But he just frowns at that.

Adélaïde screwed up. She went and hurt that bitty and now they’re upset with her. They’re all silent and broody, and won’t look at her. And they’re shaking… Oh ! She didn’t notice she didn’t close the door, and all the cold autumn air is getting in, noooo, stupid !  
“Ah ! Sorry, I’m closing it ! ah- um… Can you… maybe move over a little, please ?”

It takes them a while to show they heard her, but they grumblr and scoot (without actually getting up) enough that she can close the door without hitting them (again), then flops down on the tiles on their belly (like a bunny. or a hamster ? She can’t remember anymore. They just look extra cute and like pancakes when they flatten, in videos- ah !). Hm. Well. They do look pretty cute, all tiny and round like that, but not that tiny, because they’re stocky, with a big bone head… She guesses ? She can’t really tell if they’re really a skeleton, monsters are all so different ! from the little she’s seen of them, at least. But they’re still very tiny… All monsters, but this one especially.

She got really scared for real, there. They weren’t anywhere to be found through the glass, and she thought of the worst… Aren’t there animals out at this hour ? And couldn’t they eat anything smaller than them ? And couldn’t they eat a bitty ? Could a cat eat a bitty ?? Ah crud, she’s starting to feel sick again…

They’ve been silent for a while, now… They thought of the door, so that’s good, but they haven’t tole a word since, unusual for a human, but even more for that one, stayed in the same spot, and he won’t dare move… He can feel their gaze weighting on his back, persistent. Can’t they say something ? What’d he do ? They angry or something ? He was glad when they calmed down, but now the contrast’s too big, and it’s freaking him out.

 

… BUT HE GUESSES HE’LL JUST HAVE TO DRAW FIRST CONTACT, SINCE THEY’RE APPARENTLY GLITCHING. Ah no, right, humans don’t glitch. They do… whatever that is, he guesses.  
“h-hey.” He turns around, slowly. They seem to perk up a tad at that. “did… didn’t you promise me diner ?” And he puts out a polite smile with that, because he’s nice like that.

Arg! She spaced out ! Why does she keep doing that ?? It’s annoying, and people see she’s weird ! And that she doesn’t care ! But she wants to ! She heard them, now though, even if the grin is strange, in stark contrast with before…  
“Yeah I did, sorry !” She goes to run to the kitchen, but remembers what just happened in the garden. “Uh you… wanna walk there ?”

His smile freezes in a grimace. He, well. He’d rather not. But. Ah ah. What choice does he have ? Getting picked up and put there, or crawling there and probably getting picked on ? Risking a certain instant death by falling down off a spacey hairless monkey, or risking a certain painful death by self-exertion on cold tiles ? He huffs and shrugs his hands up, still slumped on the floor. Hopefully they’ll get the hint. He doesn’t want to have to ask for a ride. ‘s embarrassing enough.

She stares at the small person (because that’s what they are, after all, right) a good minute, confused, till she tilts, and scrambles to scoop them up, and carry them… to the big, soft couch, on a blanket. At their confused squint, she stutters apologetically, and wrings her hands a little.  
“I’m sorry- I gotta- Can’t get the couch dirty, but it’s colder in the kitchen, and it’s better rest here- you can have it there, the food I mean- d-do you like canned vegetables ?”  
“huh.”  
“Hm ?” That kid looks the perfect mix of hopeful and desesperate...  
“yea ?”... over canned vegetables ? Sure he wouldn’t have taken it over roasted holiday chicken but HAH the day he gets to taste something like that. And he’s starving. He’d eat out of a trashbag. That was his initial plan. And the couch blanket thing is just fine. In fact he fainted fell in a healing slumber seconds after the big toddler turns away.

And the big toddler comes back way too soon, waking him up with a… warm, savoury smelling, appetizing pot thing. Nevermind he’s not annoyed anymore, he’s not gonna start getting annoyed. He digs in, hands first, not even seeing the small plastic ice cream spoon in the mushy dunnowhathatis flavoured thing.

“Sooo… You like it ?” They seem to, they’re eating more than they’re breathing… Do they breathe ? She wonders if it’d be rude to tell them to maybe slow down ? No, what is she doing, thinking of lecturing people, she’s stupid. But they really should slow down… at least to feel the food go down… their throat ? Can they have an oesophagus if their neck is made of bones ? Can they taste food if they’re a skeleton ? Are they ?  
“Are you a skeleton ?” She blurts that out without thinking- uuuuuuuuurg who asks that, that’s-that’s dumb ! Stupid.

Sansy#714F8 doesn’t like answering questions on what he is. Likes even less what happens when he doesn’t. So.  
“ye.”  
He wonders if he could go in the bowl. He fits for sure, and that’d be warm. Hm, is that a headache he’s feeling ? A fever ? He brings another mouthful to his fangs with his dull claws. Those are ham bits he’s chewing on, right ?

Hmmm. That was a really stupid question. But they don’t seem to mind, so she guesses it’s okay. She wanna ask other things but… nah. She doesn’t want to be loony and annoying. But… she kinda wanna talk, the silence isn’t very good, and talking makes her belly twists less.  
“It’s canned pea.” They look at her, a little surprised (and… frowny ? She hopes not). “The purée, I mean. Uh, purée is french for mash. Like potato mash. But not really. Mash doesn’t really fit so I use the french word.” Their small star-like eyes are still locked on her, and they’re still slurping (she wonders if they realize the noise they make) at their small pointy fingers; not bored or angry, then ? “And uh, I added some salt and garlic, with a spoon-ish of cream. Could not take a lot, just pinches…” she had enough troubles finding a can in the back of the shelves, one she’s sure nobody’ll notice missing, the small kind. “I was supposed to have the ham’s leftovers for afterschool’s snack, so I could put as many as I wanted !” She’s grinning as she says that. She wasn’t that hungry when she felt still a little sick, so she just took a bite and shredded the rest in the veggie dish. She’ll just wait for dinner, hopefully it’ll be better then.

So purée, then ? He never had it. Doesn’t remember having garlic, either, wonder what that is… Meh, he guesses it just tastes good. Too bad there isn’t more than one, maybe two handfuls left ? Oh, and uh, that was a spoon. Hm. Now he feels kinda stupid, with his claws covered in grub (of course stuck in between his phalanges, too, great. That’ll make a late night snack) and sticky, ratty, good for trashy sleeves and jacket’s front. But he’s tired again now, he’ll just sleep it off. He starts backing off, and nestling back in the now dirty blanket. Who cares. It’s warm, and soft. He wants to sleep.

“Sorry.” Hhhhhhhhhh. What’s it again ? He lifts one socket. He open both wide when he feels the cushions dip on his left. Kid went to sit beside him. Well, can’t tell them not to do as if it’s their home.  
“I took a pretty long time to cook that.” Okay so maybe he can tell them to shut up and let him sleep. Or maybe they’re ten times his height and forty his weigh and he’ll shut up. He sees them fidgeting -again- with the bowl.  
“You were still outside all that time, and, were you even- you were stuck at the door!” She sighs at first, then exclaims at the end “And I forgot! you were out here ! in the cold ! for all that time !” She spreads her arms out wide, as if to gesture at all the… stupid she’d just been ! Urg ! She’s stupid ! Why is she stupid ! “And-and you could have gotten hurt on the way, did you fall ? You could have fell ! And I could have forgotten to check, and left you outside, stuck, aaand- you could have caught hypotam-them-therm !” She’s gesturing a lot more seriously now, at. Things. Anger. She sighs, exasperated with herself, and bury her head in her arms, and her arms in her knees. She feels sick.  
“I’m so, so sorry.”

Aaaand now they’re whimpering. He couldn’t believe they could get any wigglier and louder but wowie ! He’d been wrong ! He’s not gonna get sleep soon, is he. But. He can’t really get aggravated with them. They look very worried, and like they feel bad for real. That’s. New. And nice, he gotta admit. To himself. But if they start crying he really doesn’t know what he’s gonna do ! So he just stays put, buried in his sorta wet (because of the mud, shut up, he doesn’t sweat that much) blanket up to his nose, silent.

She twists her fingers and scratched her palms. Scratches some more.

That looks painful. He’d rather they stop. Now.  
“‘s ok.” They stop scratching. Their hands are reddish. They give him a shy look. He takes a breath, exhales, and continues. “‘s ok. ‘t was cold, but, i said i’d walk. and. mistakes are. a thing. ‘s ok. i don’t mind… thanks for, uuuh, the food. ‘t was good.” He buries himself deeper in the wool. Yeah. The fuck he’s giving pep talks. ‘s not his thing. He feels stupid. 

She can breath a little easier. She’s... thankful. So she says a soft, quiet ‘thanks you’, he gives a soft grunt in return, and she nudges the cushions around some to feel cozy, and stays here. The silence isn’t so bad now.

She picks a little at her nails. There’s still dirt here, that got through the gloves, somehow.

She wiggles her toes a bit, she likes to do that, sometimes. wiggle wiggle wiggle. wiggle. She giggles.

 

He’s been dozing on and off, comfortable. ‘s sure is something else than what he’d planned. Whatever he’d planned. Meh.

 

The door opens. Not the glass door, to the garden, where it’s pitch black now. The front door, in wood, giving a on a stone paved way to a road, that gives to a bigger city, on which side stays a shining car, under fancily designed street lamps. The door opens and he steps in, already picking on details, things that are wrong, not done, the fridge, the table, not the garden, because he’d had enough walking for today, then the rooms.  
“Adélaïde.”

Adélaïde’s sleeping. Bent sideway; all over the bundled blanket, in a way that’ll twist her back bad. She snores softly, each exhale sending strands of light dirty blonde hair flying, then peacefully floats back on her now peach pink cheeks.

“ADELAÏDE.” His voice booms effortlessly.

“WaAAH- uh, oh, ah, good even-ning, daddy !” She nearly fell off the couch, and bent her wrist in a bad way as she struggled to not meet the ground head first. Her heart bumps erratically, crescendo as she realizes her situation. It’s past eight ‘o’ clock, daddy’s home, and she was caught slacking off… and the bitty. Oh no. She nervously pats around the blanket on her side, eyes glued on her father’s, and ears wide open for the lecture bound to come.

“What. Is. This.” He points, index to the ground, face blank, but eyes tern.

“Hum, hum- hum-” Her eyes dart, quick to find the problem, and land on the garden’s doorstep. Oh. Shit. “I, uh, after gardening- Must have-”  
“I don’t care how. I’m asking why it’s still here ?” The muds tracks are huge, don’t stop till the couch, sprayed dust everywhere, but especially are visible where bitty had crawled around. They’re faint, should take only a swipe of a broom and maybe a wet rag to go, but… They’re still here right now…

“I, uh, w-wanted to clean it, but I…” Adélaïde bites her lower lip hard, and can’t keep looking at her father. She wrings her hands, stupid, stupid !  
“You...what ?” His voice is very calm, but he gestures to her briskly to finish her sentence. She doesn’t want to.  
“I… I uh,- I forgot-” She only whispers at the end. Her vision is pinned on her socks, now, counting the stars, one two three, one two three, one two  
“And why do you keep forgetting simple chore ?” He isn’t yelling. His voice is just loud, so calm but strong. He even sounds saddened…“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Adélaïde.”

She flinches again. Very slowly, she obeys. When she’s complied, he’s already two steps from her. She flinches again, trying to avert her gaze and make herself as small as possible. Then she remembers he just asked her a question. Her head goes back up. He’s just looming over her, waiting patiently.  
“It’s-it’s because I need to be more careful to f-”

“IT’S BECAUSE YOU DON’T CARE. IT’S BECAUSE YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST TWEEDLE YOUR THUMBS AND LET PEOPLE- ME AND YOUR MOTHER, WHO’S ALREADY SO TIRED- CLEAN UP YOUR MESSES AND WON’T PAY ATTENTION-” He seems to catch himself being so much louder. His face loses his tension. His tone soften itself, the sad disappointed edge back again. “All because, you think you don’t have anything to do in this house ?” She shakes her head. “Because you think mommy’s always here to look after you ?” She shakes her- “Do you think it’s mommy’s job to clean up after you ? So you can be lazy ?” She shakes her head so bad it hurts her neck. Whiplash. “Do you think we can afford to have you have fun all the time while we work ?” Shakes “We’re here to exhaust ourselves, while you snore, laze away like a worm, sprawled on our couch ? Are we just here for that, for you ?”

“I-I-I-I-I’m-I’m sorryyy, I’m sorryyyyyy-” She apologizes, again and again, so ashamed, she was stupid, she doesn’t think, she didn’t want to stress her parents ! She knows they work hard, to make her happy ! She’s crying and with each sob that bubbles out of her, she says a sorry.

“I don’t want your excuses. I want real efforts. So go get the short-handled brush and take care of that.” He points again to the offending tracks. He watches her intently as she obliges.

Then she sees him walk past her, and she chokes on her fear,-oh no, no no no not the blanket !  
“And what’s that too ? Getting things dirty on the couch ? Do you do the laundry, here ?” Sometimes, yes, when Mommy says she can’t “No, I don’t think so ! And what are you looking at ? Get to work.” He lifts the blanket in its entirety off the seat…

And nothing but dust falls off it. Getting brown powder all over the cushions. Bitty… isn’t here ?

Her Daddy clears his throat, and she realizes she’s frozen on her spot, and hurries to her task. The whole time, she wracks her brain to… make sense of what just happened Where are they, were they here ? Did… she dream them up ? The thought alone makes her stinging eyes well up again.  
Once she’s sure she scrubbed her screw up well, she fetched Daddy. He takes some minutes to inspect carefully, grumbling at the leftover grains in between the wood plans, but otherwise silent. Then he nods, and heads for the kitchen.  
“Dinner is ready in a quarter. Remember to wash your hands after you change in your pajamas.” He dismisses her.  
“But, we’re not waiting for Mommy ?” She regrets peeping up instantly, but… why not wait ?  
“No.” Final. But he carries on, visibly irritated by her insolence. “She comes home too late. Don’t talk back to me.” And then he’s gone. She hears the stoves spark on.

“h-hey” Uh ? Who ? She jump-turns around, is it ??? Adélaïde can’t help but run back to the couch- but quietly, don’t run in the house- and aaaa ! There they are ! She’d squeal- if she could. Instead she bites hard on her lower lip.

He’s wedged himself between the back’s and the seat’s cushions. He heard the car turn to a stop in the alley, and the motor go off, and slipped himself out of his nest and in his hideaway the next second. No dealing with an adult right now, he thought. And oh fucking stars was he right. What was that. What the fuck. Was that. The kid- Adélaïde, uh- went from drowsy to high strung to a wreckdown of tears in less than five minutes !! And now they’re back to normal, peppy wiggly ? And was that their father ?? for real ?? That’s. That’s not what fathers do, he’s seen fathers- ok, not a lot, but still- and… No ! Fuck ! He didn’t catch on what was exactly said, too busy stifling another stupid fit of his, but it was bad !

And now he’s stuck between the cushions.

He’s tired, filthy, sweaty, stressed, angry, and stuck. He also wants to cry. But he’s enough of a stupid wimp as it is so he chokes on it. Can’t keep down a whimper, though, and embarrassment hits hard.

Adélaïde nearly cries when they let out a distressed mewl. Very delicately, she extirpates them from their trap, and puts them back on the floor, even if she’d prefer to hide them right now. But she knows they don’t like to be touched. She can guess, from how they act and experiences.  
A quiet “hide me…” is enough to get her up and going again, with permission now, she gives a resolute nod to her small guest and, instead of having them clutch at her fingers like before, she puts them on her t-shirt as she extends the fabric to make a pouch. They squint at her (they do that a lot, do their eye sockets hurt ?” quizzically, but seems to shrug it off, which she takes as further authorization to scamper up the stairs- but quietly.

She has some troubles to open her door, with no hands, but after a good shove- quietly, stupid- she can reach her bed, on which she places bitty, then an old sweat, on which they move without being asked, haggard, on all four, before plopping down, like before.

She’s fidgeting again, he notes absently. He’s falling asleep again, but he doesn’t want to. What if the other ass barges in here too… fuck, is he scared ? Yes, YES HE IS? He didn’t want this. He left this. Fuck.  
They’re… Trying to rub-bury their skull in the fabric. Hh. Adélaïde feels so guilty? This is her fault. If only she hadn’t been stupid and shitty and did her actual job ! But what’s done is gone, now. Without thinking, she puts two fingers down on their back and rub then flinch (isn’t she doing an awful lot of that ? urg, stupid reactions) and draws back like touching ice cold water. But they haven’t reacted, and only turned their head (still buried, she can’t see their sockets) a little toward her. So she tries… resuming whatever she was doing ? They seem to relax at that. 

Ok. Honestly, when he first feels the human touch him, he bites back a yell. But they stop abruptly, and he deems them inoffensive. When the fingertips come back doing their thing, he just stills his gross breathing a little. Him, touch-starved ? HAH. So little. That this is enormous. And his face isn’t getting wetter by the second, no. Stupid and vulnerable, and this weirdo kid switching from one mood to the other… He’s exhausted.

He’s been dozing off again, when the patting stops. He opens an eye again, like before, but more at ease. He sees the kid getting up, apologizing, have to change, and get ready to eat, yeah. He’ll just. Turn to the other side. Curls up tighter with a big sleeve around him. The rustling of clothes is awkward, but strangely appeasing, too. This is a child’s room, in which a child lives, and changes, and it’s safe, and it’s normal. He wonders if that’s how it feels in human fam...ilies… ew. He’s thinking stupid shit again. He just let fatigue claims him in its black void.

Adélaïde keeps looking over her shoulder as she buttons down her shirt, also putting on her pants (both at once; she’s agile and it takes less time) and- arg, paired monday with wednesday here- worries a bit about her new roommate. She’s at a loss of what to do, she’s never had any sleepover, and can barely remembers to handle to handle herself. She keeps mulling over this as she soaps her hands (harsher than strictly necessary, but it helps, she pushes to the voice). When she’s clean, she stares at her red hands. Hm. She’ll take care of that after food.

She tries to be as quiet as she can to drink her soup, after Daddy swats her when she slurps too loud, and tells to no one, as he puts away his dish, that maybe she just doesn’t care because she’s stupid, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because someone else is always going to do it for you, at the end of the day, anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> take care of yourselves and don't let the voices repeat their bs. this wasn't meant as a lecture's chapter at all, but i thought i'd add that.
> 
> next time is a softer one.


	3. chap 3. And a Sweet 'n' a Pea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw nsfw mentions, in a weird way like kids in fucked up houses do, boundaries talks, many risks of arguments, mentions of illness and dirty wounds, self hatred, anxiety, panic attacks (mostly sansy, about his damn past), and misunderstandings. you could cut the tension with a knife, as we say. if i forget anything, tell me !
> 
> the two protags get to see their respective limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeps it's been so long !!  
> i'm so sorryyy waah  
> i thought i'd just take a holiday hiatus, but holy heck i got jumped by one hell of a bad mental place period !
> 
> i think i'm gon change my way of writing, i used to first scribble it out on paper then copy it on the computer cuz i didnt trust myself to get sprawled all around if i went for redacting directly, but it discourages me too much if i don't write too long.
> 
> so, let's get to it !!

chap 3. … And a Sweet and a Pea

 

Hair still wet from her shower, Adélaïde shuffles her bare feet on her room’s soft pink carpet (but it’s getting a little grimy, she should take care of that). She comes to a stop when her pensive stare falls on the softly breathing bitty. They definitely breathe, she couldn’t get that wrong with how they went from pants to snores some hours ago. 

She comes a little nearer. Stops when her knees bump against the bed.  
Stays here a bit.  
Contemplates the ins and outs of oxygen the small skeleton makes.  
Waits for some development on their part.  
She doesn’t want to wake them up.

After some moving around, they wake up. They’re apparently an energetic sleeper. They look a little frazzled, at first, but settles their blurry dancing lights on her, and exhales, somewhat placid now. She can’t… She doesn’t know what to say.

“oh. it’s you.” Sounds like he ate charcoal, uurhghg what the fuck.  
“It’s me !” She perks up at that, albeit whispering.

They stare at each other. Sansy#714F8 huffs a laugh. Adélaïde bursts in quiet chuckles. They follow. Soon, they’re both clutching at their midsection, both of their faces planted in the bedsheets to muffle it, but grinning. When Sansy#714F8 can catch his squeaky breath, he sighs, feeling cooler.  
“stress laugh.” Adélaïde has no idea what he means, but nods, enthusiastic. It takes them a little to calm down, which the little girl uses to search in her pockets.

“I, uh, ahah, got you something we had for the soup. It’s a little in crumbs, sorry, my pocket.” She places the food down between them.

He has his hands out the moment she starts her sentence. He doesn’t care, free food, he’s still starving. He literally tears it apart and suck in any fleeing bits, because this shit is good.

“It’s brioche bread. The eggs and butter and yeast make it better. Sort of sweet, uh ? Ah Ah !” They’re munching with newfound vigour, seems like someone has a sweet tooth like her ! “Brioche is also a french thing. My family is partly french, that’s why I uuh. Eat and use french words. stuff.” She pulls her knees to her chest on the bed, and rests her chin on them, shy. She always babbles about that and get shut down. Bitty doesn’t seem to mind, though. They’re contented nibbling on their bread, and watching her with the same attentive lights as before.  
He speaks up after a few more chews.  
“adélaïde’s… a girl name ?” right ?  
“Oh ? Uh, yeah.”  
“so. you’re a girl ?”  
“Hm ? Oh, yeah.”  
“ok.”

“is it a french name, too ?”  
“Actually, yeah ! You can see it more when you spell it. You’re good at guessing stuff !”  
“heh.” Sounds of scrapes of bone on bone from an embarrassed gestures fill the silent once more room.

“What’s your name ?”  
He glitches. Stiffens and inspires. Holds it. It comes out like a whistling casserole.  
“don’t have one.”  
She. Doesn’t frown, but something like that.  
“ ‘m a bitty. a sansy sub-brand. matricule 714, factory 8.”  
“What ?? Ew !”  
He curls up in a ball. Hmmmmmm he doesn’t know how to deal with that reaction…  
“Why do you have a matricule ?? Why don’t you have a name ? That’s gross ! You’re not a factory thing-”  
“i was made in a factory-”  
“I don’t caaaare !” She whines “I-I was born out of a vagina, and nobody calls me Vagina#1 !!!” She’s now agressively whispering. And Sansy#714F8 is now choking. Just downright choking and coughing a wheezy uncomfortable laugh in between. Adélaïde manages to help him calm down, and he gasps, sternly.  
“don’t say that. no.” He’s snickering in embarrassment, he’s a terrible adult (?).  
“But-”  
“no.” His weird amusement dies cold. “i don’t want hearing about human genitalia, and not from a little girl. enby. boy. whatever. no. no talk of that from a child. don’t talk about yourself like that.”  
“But-”  
“no.”  
“But I’m right though !! Calling you a matricule is gross the same !! It’s-it’s- Dehumanizing !”  
“i’m not human, kid.” Aaand shit fuck damn are they getting teary eyed on him now ?  
“That’s stupid.” He doesn’t reply. He’s back to nestling himself, disgruntled.

“I’m sorry I said something gross.”  
“...’s not your fault. you’re a kid. you do stuff you… shouldn’t do.”  
“...Hm.”

“Can I say ‘fuck’ ?”  
“pfbtbbt- i’m not your parent !!” He’s wheezing again “a-and ! you just did !”  
“Ah. Right.”

“So what’s your name ?”  
“gh-? i just told you.”  
“No, not that. What’s your name ?”  
“... bitties are supposed to be named.”  
She tilts her head. He sighs.  
“we’re like. toys or stuff. pets. little-”  
“U-urg, NO ! Not that again !” And she storms out of the room, making the bed bounce suddenly.

Sansy#714F8 is. Feeling a little dejected, to say the least.

Then she’s stomping back in, a cat under the arm and goes to her shelves to drag down a box of something with the other. And she drops both to the floor. She gives a kick to the box, for good measure, and to show its contents. Dolls. 

“This” she gestures to the fallen over doll mount “is toys. This” she now points at the cat “is Grise.” Grise is currently completely ignoring a suddenly anxious bitty, and licking at her behind. “She’s gross. I love her. She’s my pet.”

“Now do you know the common point between these two things ?” Her conversation partner is emitting unintelligible sounds, visibly dumbfounded- no problem, she wasn’t expecting an answer, she’s a spectacle that suffices to herself.  
“They don’t care, and they can’t talk. And by that I mean can’t communicate in a sentient language born of a specific culture, ‘cuz mute and deaf people can talk, too. Because these two” she now jazz hands at both subjects with both hands, for emphasis “aren’t sentient being. Not that Grise isn’t clever don’t think that she’ll steal your lunch AND your pants and socks when you’re not looking and she can hide those and herself for ages and when she comes out she always throws you this smug look, cuz she knows, she knows- but yeah, uh, no. They aren’t talking. They don’t know ‘bout laws and cats have feelings, but not toys, toys aren’t even alive, you are, and pets, they don’t care we own them, they just get food and shelter out of it but they aren’t persons. they don’t care about ownership. Grise thinks she owns me and my bed. It’s weird. So. Uh. No.” She’s breathy and red from the rant. “You aren’t a toy, or a pet too. Nobody can own you. That’s wrong. You’re sentient. You got feelings. You’re alive.”  
She huffs and puffs after her tirade. Now she’s tired. Ah ah.

Sansy#714F8 is. Feeling weird now. Touched ? Yeah, that. He’s touched.

She’s got it all wrong, she doesn’t understand at all, but he’s touched.

They don’t see it but she does, and when they cower their ever smiling face in their smelly sweater hood, it morphs in the most dopey blushy grin. She counts that as victory.

So she doesn’t let the question go. Grise is still doing her nasty business (ew at this fuzzy old lady honestly) and Adélaïde is picking up the dolls and smoothing their hair, as she mulls over it.

“Pea.” She lights up like a trick candle.  
“hm ?” They’re startled out of hoodie town.  
“You could take Pea as a temporary name.” Her eyes are big and shiny when she looks at him.  
“pee ? ew kid. that’s mean.” Is she serious ? After that whole speech ?  
“Nooo- ew at yourself ! I mean PEA. P-E-A.”  
“oh.” he can’t help not being confused, and gives an incredulous smile. “why ?”  
“‘Cus you got it all smeared on your face.”  
“oh.” Okay now he’s slightly mortified. But won’t show it. Nope. Just stealthily brush it off with his ratty dirty ass sleeves… fuck, abort.  
“You’ve got a pea-face ~” She sing songs quietly.  
“what- no ! don’t say that, that’s gross, i don’t care !” But he’s laughing.  
“And you’re such a sweetpeaaa-” She can’t help herself, she’s so happy and on a roll.  
“ok, no, stop.” All the cheer rushes out of him. So she steps back, figuratively and literally, when his eyes go pitch black; oh wow, that’s bad feel stuff.  
“Are you okay ??-” What happened to the lights ??  
“no. don’t say shit like that, i told you.”  
“You.. did ? I don’t…”  
“Shut up. Just don’t say it.”  
“B-but, don’t say what ??” Oh oh no, no, what did she do again ??  
“i said no sex shit but i thought that implied flirting, don’t flirt with people older than you, fuck, don’t flirt with me- don’t think don’t even just because you’re a kid and i’m small,don’t-” He’s on his trembling feet now, fists tense and balled at his sides, volume louder and louder, lights back but still dark.

“WHAT ? NO !” If she whisper-yelled any louder her windpipe would fall out. “I’m not flirting with you, eeeew no !”

“wha-” It’s his turn to take a step back now, lights absent again, for a whole other reason than before. “b-but-”  
“No ! No buts ! I wasn’t ! Gross !” She winds back the conversation in her head, and blurts out wide eyed; “That was a compliment ! I-I was playful teasing ‘cus, ‘cus you were all sloppy, too, but- that’s not flirting ?? You can tell people they’re cute without flirting ! … Right ?” She… actually has no idea. She thinks so but, she’s not an adult, she never had a date… oh nooo what if she did flirt ??  
“I didn’t mean to !” She waves her arms around, hoping to shoo away the sick feeling, maybe- “If that’s what I did I didn’t mean to ! I wanted to joke- but I meant that you look cute- but that’s cus’ you are, cus’ you’re small and you go all pink, and you go “poof” like a ham-ham when you go to sleep ! I’m sorry.”

“Uh- Bitty ?”  
“P-Bitty ? You need to breathe,” he coughs, hard “Okay, that works too, but please breathe slower- no no no, listen to me, slower, Bitty…?”

He has a whole coughing fit, from whatever the fuck that was, that made him go to mouth agape to suffocating, and he spits “don’t call me that” but it’s meek and he can’t stand, so they- she probably won’t listen.

“Oh, I’m sorry was that offensive ? I’m sorry, please breathe.”  
“...pea’s good.”  
“Ah.”  
“you didn’t mean that as a fl-”  
“No. That’s gross- that’d be gross.”  
“o-ok. pea’s good. that’s good.” on, heave, two, three, four- “i’m sorry.” Exhales. 

why does he cry so much now ?

“‘s okay, I’m sorry, too.” And she looks it, too.  
“hi, sorry, i’m pea.”  
“Wh- bpfft- ahah! ahahahah !!” The sudden eruption of giggles is loud, and she has to stifle it with her hands.  
Oh wow. Now that’s a good laugh if he ever heard one. Success.

 

They’re laying on the bed again, heads up to the ceiling now, recovering from a laughing fit again. Silent. It’s a silence that feels okay.  
“isn’t it like, way past your bedtime ?”  
“Dad and Mom don’t know- don’t care. So long I’m quiet.”  
Well, he meant that more as in ‘isn’t that bad for your health’, but ok. “huh.”  
“We have a big house. I told you, this one is pretty old. So its sound isolation isn’t good. But we don’t sleep in the same aisle.”  
Aisle ? Ah. So he’s in a rich people’s house. Urg. Rich people. But at the same time, yay, rich people !! He’s not eating anyone’s very much needed food. That fixes the micro-guilt problem he didn’t even know he even had !

“Do you want to take a bath ?”  
Ok so now she’s getting really weird. Nice, but weird. What is she, 10 ?  
“You’re like, all filthy and and wet, Pea, and you stink.”  
Ah ok. She’s RUDE.  
“If you bathed you could wear clean warm clothes and get under the clean warm toasty bed sheets, not just on a little old sweater.”  
Ok but now she’s taking him by his sentiments. He shrugs, and mimics ‘i don’t know’, ‘cuz yeah sure but how ?  
“I’ll be right back !-” and she’s rushed out. He guesses he can rest a lil, meanwhile- aaand she’s sprinted back in. He barely had the time to blink. But he got no time to complain; she’s presenting him with a mini plastic bathtub- for real ?-, steaming with hot water, and countless stuff he’s not gonna care about. She even brought a small towel ! And she’s busied herself reading the flasks’ labels.  
“Senteur des bois (that’s forest smell, you smell like, fresh pines very strong, it sucks), Rose tendre (you can guess), Agrumes douces (that’s orangey stuff), Savon de Marseilles (I don’t know if it’s actually from there), Rouge Cerises-”

He’s tuned her out. Not to be rude- oh, he’d never. But he can spot two Chanels, three Yves Saint Laurent, oh another Chanel ! And five Sephora.

Ha ha. Aaah, rich people.

And the kid, who’s holding the glass bottles like they’re her dolls’ tea set. Could be, for all he knows. She did have a lot of dolls.

Ah? She’s eagerly waiting for his selection.  
“uuuuuuh rose thing. the first one.” Can’t remember the others, just that apparently pine tree’s a bad choice, so.

He can handle flowery shit.  
(he actually really wants to)

She doesn’t comment on his choice. He’s very silently glad.

Once she doused a decent amount (“it’s no good till you can feel the scent materialize in your nose !” she said) she turns her attention to the bedside table opposite to the one on where his royal dip rests, and busies herself with a book.  
He didn’t even have to ask and he appreciates that a log.  
He still strips as fast as he can and hides in the water, though.

And ow, ow, bad choice, bad- ! He hisses violently as the hot liquid attacks his cuts and bruises, and seeps in most cracks. It’s both a blessing, cuz feeling the sweet fog clear out his musty skull and joints of their crass is heaven, but his open dirty marrow wounds are really really suffering. But he deals, because that means it’s healing, ahah? Right ? Yeah. 

It takes a while but he gets comfortable eventually, breathing easier now that his skull’s getting cleared out of all the grim, and he occupies himself with the shit he got in his teeth. And damn, that’s a lot of shit… The water’s darkening fast, and shit, that’s definitely marrow leaking out of him.

“You okay ?” He hears from behind him.  
“don’t look !” He’s so startled he makes water splash out of the tub. Fuck.  
He doesn’t know why he agreed to this, why he suddenly trust her.  
“I won’t.” He doesn’t dare to look at her, and sits up straighter when he hears rustling. He quiets himself as much as possible, focusing on the sound. She isn’t getting any nearer… ‘s that a page turning ? He risks an eye at her… And she’s got her back facing him, reading the same book as before. In this position she could not possibly see him, even if she wanted to. Ok. Yeah. He’s an idi-  
“Are you okay ?”  
Hhh no he didn’t just squeak !  
“Pea ?”  
“YEAH.”  
“Okay? No issue. Thanks.”  
Why did she- wha- Hhh.  
“You can tell me if you need help, okay ?”  
“i… ok.”

Some pages later, the room is still silent.  
The water is starting to lose its heat.  
He hasn’t moved the whole time.  
He should probably get out.  
More pages get turned.  
He doesn’t want to.  
This. He wants to. Not stop.  
It’s complicated.  
It feels good. It isn’t, he knows it ! But right now, it does.  
It feels safe.

He peeks behind his back again. She barely budged. She’s like, absorbed completely in her reading. He has no idea how much time has passed. Water’s definitely grown lukewarm now.

“wh.” Does he ask, or ?  
“Hm ?” Her response is immediate, and she straightens up fast, like on alert. He thinks he can spot a smile from his angle ?  
“could you… check, uh, my head ?” He blurts out so fast he doesn’t think.  
“... Yeah sure, does that, aah, means I can look ?”  
He squints at her; he just asked her to do that ? What’s. How does she think ? That’s strange. He goes along it.  
“yeah. you can.” He turns his head back to his front fast, so she doesn’t know he was peeping at her when she rolls around. He can hear the bed springs ache and whine as she comes nearer. He tries to regulate his fake-breathing.

“What should I be looking for ?” Her body heat is radiating out of her fingers he knows are hovering over his skull. He can faintly hear her blood pumping where her fingertips must be. She gets nearer and he gotta use all his shitty willpower to not launch out of the water and sprint to the small space between her closet and the wall on his far left.

“something like sticky red crap. i got a big wound on top ‘a m’head.  
“Yeah. I saw.” Her voice gets quieter at that, but he still feels her warm breath on his back.  
“hnn.” He doesn’t need her pity. He focuses his attention on his claws under the water, and keeps on grinding out the crap between the bones. He wants to keep at it till his bone marrow is raw and numb.

“why are you.. what are you doing ?” Nothing, she’s doing nothing, why is she doing nothing ? shit shi t shit he shouldn’t have asked for her to look, shit-  
“Buh- uh, I’m looking ?”  
“wh-lookin’ ?! watcha looking at ??” He can feel her super near, and his face, still pointed at the tub’s bottom, is reddening fast in mortification, being scrutinized like a- a-, he hates it ! he hates it ! he hates her hates her- !

“Your skull !!” The air behind him is colder, and he flinches and risks looking up at her. She’s. upset ? What’s she upset at ?? He hides further in the bubbles, thankful for their opacity. He doesn’t understand the look she’s giving him.  
“I. Was. Looking. A your. Skull.” The way she says it, slow and frowning, it makes him want to jump her. He’s ridiculous. He hates her. She keeps talking; “Because I’m looking for the infection.”  
“wh- what infection ??”  
“The stuff you told me to look out for. Sounds like an infection.”  
“oh.” Bitties.. can’t get infections, thought ? It’s like, an illness ? And Bitties can’t get sick.  
“why are you looking for it, like- like a jerk, though ??”  
“What ?!-” She looks more upset, and he gets angrier.  
“i told you what it’s- it’s sticky ! you’re- you’re supposed to look for it, b-but with your fingers, not staring like a jerk !!” What’s her problem, seriously !!  
“BUT-!” She catches herself..? “Pea… You, didn’t tell me I could touch your head ?” Now she looks sheepish.

“Wh- but- i!” That, that was what he implied ?! Why is she ??

He must be making a bad face, because she looks alarmed.  
“I don’t like it when people don’t ask before touching me !!”  
“wh?”  
“I don’t like it ! Are- are you okay with it ?” Her tone is incredulous, and she draws her head back between her shoulders, like a turtle. She definitely feels slow, right now. Is it just a her-problem ?  
“... i never… really. thought about it ?” He’s timid when he admits so.  
He’s scraping at his chin this time, looking sideways and grinning at himself.

All the tension slips out from both of them. They’re left a bit lost, mostly confused, dazed. Their eyes hesitate between their hands, fidgeting, and each other’s eyes. Then they laugh, quietly. It’s just a couple of chuckles, sort of sad, but there’s a comfort in it.

After some cautious touches of cotton -he’s still reeling of just how gentle she was- and a few drops of alcoholized lotion he didn’t know could work for him, they both let out a sigh of relief. No big infection, according to Adélaïde’s words.

“So. Nobody ever really asked before touching you ?”  
… “err… remember the ‘im basically a pet/toy’ thing ?” Their voice is weak and she hates it.  
“Urg.”  
“hm.”  
“You wanna get out of bath ?” The water’s getting cold.”  
She drops another blanket within their reach, bigger though, not waiting for their answer, and jumps off her bed to rummage in one of her dolls boxes. 

He just watches her for a little while, still chin deep in bubbles, stalling.

When she’s back arms full of colourful fabric, he’s busy drying between his finger bones. He hates it when the joints get damp. His limbs are nearly white again. He definitely smells strong like rose. He peeks out of his blanket cave-burrito when he feels the mattress dip. Before him lay a bunch of various small clothing articles. He looks at her, and she nods.

Not getting out of his warm refuge, he sweeps his eyes on each, then settles on a couple of soft looking white pajamas ? They’re stripped with blue, and for some reason he never understood, that always made him feel icky, but it’ll do. He looks at the kid again, and she gives him a little smile. He pulls an arm out of the blanket, and points at his choice.

She waits patiently glancing at her book again as he dresses up inside his cave, and doesn’t so much as chuckle when she sees how too big the clothes are, kinda hiding his feet and hands, and doesn’t mock him when he spends more time than should be normal looking at the small yellow duck embroidered on his front.

The quiet stays, and all the mess from the evening feels settled, and at the same time, he feels its weight settles on his shoulders, heavy.  
As if on cue, Adélaïde lets out a huge yawn. She doesn’t even think of saying sorry.

They exchange one last glance, that lasts maybe more than needed, and silently agree on going to bed. Her rich people’s bed is way big enough for them too without him having to worry about her crushing him in his sleep.

But he still decided to nestle near her back, near enough he can feel her now comforting warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to earn forgiveness for my inactivity, pls accept this doodle of my soft protags (spoilers and tw for mentions of all things i put in the tags !!): https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/351710480278224897/406861037262995456/IMG_20180127_181830.jpg


	4. chap 4. you didn’t want a bad time but you’ve been at it for a decade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a small catchup with some good old friends to make up for the long hiatus;
> 
> seems someone has been (nearly) on their own for a long time, and has some big, risky plans...
> 
> tw suididal ideation, self harm mention, self neglect, blood and injuries, also food mention.

chap 4. you didn’t want a bad time but you’ve been at it for a decade

 

“That’ll be $5.60”  
***That’s way too much for a hotdog without proper chili, but you pay anyway.**  
Frisk hands a $10 bill to the cute lady cashier, then insist she keeps the change.  
_*tip*_ , _*propina*_ They try to sign, then spell. The lady is all confused but probably guesses a little what they’re on about, and blush.  
***Is she cute enough for you to let a quarter of our economies on her ?**  
Yes. And she’s exhausted. Retail workers deserve that much. Especially on night shift. So Frisk gets their phone and type out for the vocalizer app to explain their move to the worker, who flusteredly accepts.  
***Fair.**

  
***The diner is nearly empty. You sit at one of the comfiest looking booth, near the air conditioning. It doesn’t work the best, and the couch’s showing its age.**  
It’s been a long way since Mexico city, and the bus killed their back. They ran around some time to get out the lead feeling of their legs. Now they just want to breathe, tranquil for a while. The streets of Albuquerque are at their calmest, still noisy enough to keep them from lulling them to sleep. They stare through the shutters of the windows, letting seconds pass, ticking with the late old clock.

  
***Do you want me to take over ?**

  
No. Their exhaustion is more physical than emotional, for once. Letting Chara have the reins right now would be counterproductive, if not downright suicidal.  
***Well that isn’t very sympathetic.**  
Says the ass that decided walking from Tepetlixpa on foot would be a good idea, because they don’t mind the ache. Bleeding feet aren’t an ache, Chara.  
***I could still walk.**  
Proving the point.  
***Fair.**  
Frisk can feel their eyes look on the side, softly bashful. They often complain about Chara’s carelessness and overall pretentious tone and fake bravado, but their soft nature is always a comfort, even if clumsy.  
***Ah.**  
Now, from their touched embarrassment, a fuzzy feeling spreads through Frisk’s core. Yeah, they can be okay.

 ***Do we really need to go all the way to New York City ?**  
Ah, seems they did fell asleep. The question shakes them alert. They can immediately take in their surroundings in, the clock didn’t actually budge, must be broken, their hot-dog sits half-eaten cold in their laps, and their legs are less burning and more sweating. They’d die for a shower. Chara winces. Ouch. Right. That kind of thought in not appreciated by their body partner. A bit hypocritical, but they’re not one to talk either. You’d think they would have learned after eleven years of shared mindspace. Frisk mentally apologizes and squints, as they often do when sorry, or thwarted. Chara brushes it off, says it’s okay. It’s just been a rough night. Days. Hm.

  
They’re not quite sure what to answer them. They both know it’s only in the north american known city they’ll find answers for what they look for, and it’s not up to them if they want to finally make progress. They’ve dodged the issues for long enough now, it’s time they take responsibility. Chara simply nods, resigned.  
So they pull out their laptop out of their small bagages, and plug it after some troubles searching for a slot, but while cheap looking, the diner is actually well equipped to usual commodities. The wifi is slow and their computer takes its time booting up, but that gives them the occasion to ask the cashier, still standing here looking hollow, the poor thing, for a choco-strawberry milkshake, because loitering without paying in little businesses is rude. Chara winces again, for a whole other reason. But they won’t have to taste the hyperstimulating beverage, Frisk reassures, they can go to rest, actually, they’ve been keeping watch long enough. So Chara does just that, and Frisk feels the back of their head cotton up and the silent install itself.

  
   They give the brightest smile to the vendor, and score, another blush, heck yeah ! and then scamper back to their booth, flex their fingers, and start typing. The lack of speed of their device doesn’t discourage them, and soon they’ve found what they wanted- names, addresses, and some security codes. In the back of their head where their friend rest, a newborn excitement blooms. They could find their dear friends again ! Or maybe at least know what the fuck happened to them. They keep snooping in the small corners of the online library of data they picked up how to understand some years back, with a lazy grin and a proud sweaty smile on their teachers’ face, and after getting as much resources they can gather without attracting unwanted attention on their unauthorized presence, they close the tab and switch to that one show the two of them like.

  
   The happy little tune of the opening summons Chara, who like an old cat stretch themselves gingerly in their shared conscience, and curls up to watch with their host.  
One episode later, Chara is fully woken up from their slumber, but neither of them can live with the cliffhanger they just witnessed, so they watch two more.

  
***We ought to get going**

  
Their tone is reluctant, but not enough to not have Frisk’s finger freeze up above the ‘Next Episode’ button. They decide to be reasonable, and courageous, and close their computer, place it back in its bag as they order their thoughts, finish the last of their drink, lick off their fingers, and throw a goodbye and a last wink to the retail worker, who’s also packing for the end of her shift, and blushes, again, when they wave back.

The good mood has dissipated some by the time they’re on the road again, but their minds are more peaceful than before, with newfound motivation from helpful informations, and a full stomach. Their steps are still a bit wobbly, but sure of themselves. They just gotta take a detour by the bank to maybe check out some cash, and they’ll be back on their tracks, and hey maybe they’ll actually take the train, instead of hitchhiking. They’d rather not have to deal with some misgendering racist american. Chara softly acquiesces. Trump’s reign hasn’t been very helpful in inviting them back in their damn own country. At that, Chara comments they’d like to see Mount Ebott in Scotland again, one day. Frisk notes that down in their to-do list after.  
***It’s more of a fleeting desire than an actual wish…**  
Frisk insists, they’ll do it one day. And they can also visit Pakistan, they can get the money for that, and they won’t do it just the two of them then.  
***And maybe we could… go to Spain, too ? See if your granduncle is still here.**  
That makes Frisk squint and frown for good. They aren’t too interested getting in their family’s roots anytime soon, even if Tío did make it sweeter. Maybe if he’d move back to Mexico… They’ll see. No need to get ahead of themselves.  
***You say that, yes…**  
Frisk ignores the simple accusation, like they do often, and focus their gaze on their way up to the train station. There, they’ll know to find some cash distributor or something. Just a few miles and they’ll be here.

The dawn is barely showing its colored drapes on the sky, and the clouds look like cotton candy and pastel wool sheeps; Frisk is okay right now.

***Pursuing your journey with such a serene atmosphere above you and knowing you can earn this,**   
**It feels you with determination.**

Just like it always does nowadays, this small quirk of their companion makes them chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and next time we'll go back to our other pair of tired cool kids.
> 
> eventually they'll meet up, that's all i can tell for now.
> 
> ihatehowao3editsmyfreakingwritinghhhh


	5. chap 5. normally we have eggs and bacon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i am alive.  
> things have changed a lot. i'm not giving up on this (never planned to, it's a comfort story, i write it when i'm meh but not too much), and here comes some little more.
> 
> trigger warnings always for self-hatred, anxiety, panic attacks starting. sadly this will be recurrent for the most of the story; and hints of child abuse, with internalized fat-hatred; all very unfair. but it's all only mentions, and not too harsh.
> 
> have fun reading, maybe ?

chap 5. normally we have eggs and bacon

 

Pea gains back consciousness bits by bits; his breath still lazy, and his vision hazy. He doesn’t wanna wake up yet, and his half-lidded eyes start at nothing, as he takes in the sensations around him. It’s a bit confusing, too comfortable, too warm and soft, compared to usually. He can’t quite come around, things are too different. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t remember much yet. For some reason that doesn’t make him panic. He’s like, buried in fluff and too cozy to care. The warmth sorta comes and goes, he register. He lays under that current, maybe wind ? for some more time and buries his face deeper in the snug and slightly silky surface he slept on. 

Then he feels a sudden blow of hot hair and hear a snort.

“wha-” He sits up dazed, pulled out of his drowsiness instantly by the feeling of danger- and find the culprit to that.  
It’s the kid. Adéla-something. It’s the kid who’s very near, very close, with her head tucked in the small ball she’s curled up her bony little body in. With her face like, ten centimeters away from his face. And out of her mouth come little puffs of warm air. Oh. That’s probably what that was. Hm. Hm hm. Hmmm. He’s not at all pink right now. He can totally handle physical closeness like that. He’s not at all scooting away actually.  
When he’s a safe five centimeters more away from his human roommate, he plops down again. Then he recounts to himself what happened the day before. As he’s used to, his memory is fuzzy, but he gets the gist of it. He apparently thought it wise to be taken in, fed, named, bathed, and clothed by a little rich girl. That’s great. That’s not at all what he ran from. Amazing. So much progress. He buries his skull between his hands deep deep in the mattress, mortified.  
But as he quivers here, he thinks further. Examining his situation, it hasn’t been the very same as before. There was something different, in the actions ? the intents ? The feeling of it, of the talks, they weren’t the same…  
He grips in frustration at some strands under him- wait, those are… Those are hair strands, her hair, he’s been freaking sleeping in her hair, urrrg. And now he thinks about it, she probably woke him up by sneezing near him after he tickled her nose he was basically using as a cushion… hh what’s happening to him. He never went to willingly touch people, much less humans...

He doesn’t like what it’s implying. He’s not here to buddy buddy. It’s temporary, rest and grub, then back on the way to… wherever.

Now he’s not stressing out about being running away and alone and cold and tired and sick and caught and brought back and used again anymore and he can just think… 

He’s not feeling that desperation anymore… He’s actually feeling kind of light… Light-headed, now, wow, thanks fuck he’s already laying down. No idea why’s it happening, but that’s not new.

“Hmm Pea ?” Sounds a sleepy voice.  
He starts violently, but doesn’t lift his head. For the love of fuck he can’t actually look her in the eyes, and he knows why and he hates it.  
“...Pea ?” ‘s that worry in her voice ? He doesn’t know if he cares.  
Ruffling of clothes and bed sheets alerts him and he goes rigid- more than he already was.  
Head still buried in the mattress and sweaty already, ew.  
He feels her around him- a part of her, her hand maybe-   
“Can I… Do you need help ? Can I touch you ?” The questions rush in her hushed voice, but the last one is mechanical, and he can finally gets a humming sound out of his clamped teeth.  
“...Is that a yes or a no ?”  
He nods. Can’t trust his voice right now.  
Like before, yesterday, he feels her palm meet his back, tender, heavy but not pressing. And he can let out more noise, not intelligent ones, because his voice box is fucked like that, but   
he’s past caring about mewling. Even if he’s still mortified.  
“Oooh no” She coos, “A-Are you okay ?” She sounds past concerned and fullout alarmed, that makes the both of them, then, great.  
But it feels bad to hear that tone, and he has to stop hiding his ugly mug, because the bed’s getting stuffy as he tries breathing.  
“Oh no! You’re crying ! What’s happened ??”  
Is he ?? The hell, did he become a legit mini fountain ? What’s been up with him these days ?! It started when he left, maybe that’s the reason, but that doesn’t make any sense, he should be ok now !  
“Shh, shhh, it’s alright, crying is fine, it gets the sads out, it’s just itchy and kinda sloppy, that’s all there is bad to it…”   
Thankfully it doesn’t seem to not be much more than a drizzle, looking at his barely damp sleeves, so he just brushes that off. Focuses on breathing.

He bats her worrying hands away from him, as he brings his back to their place; hidden under his sleeves, crossed over his chest.  
“ ‘s nothing. bad dream.” It’s not too far off reality; just everything feels like one lately.   
“Oh.Well I’m glad you’re okay now. Nightmares suck.”   
He doesn’t got much to add to that. He just sits here awkwardly, until he feels something that nudges him from under.  
“Ah, I’m uh, sorry, you’re sitting on my hair-”  
“shit, forgot, wait-”  
But with the sudden move, he just falls and rolls away, and ends up buried in pillows again.  
“hhh. that’s the kind of day you don’t wanna wake up for.” he mutters in the fabric after a while.   
“You don’t actually have to get up, y’know ?”  
He gets up and squints at her. She’s already got another pair of pants on, and is buttoning some shirt with dumb looking cute dogs printed on it. He tilts his head quizzically at her.  
“What ? Do you have something to do today ?”  
“...uhh, no ?”  
“Well then sleep more if you want, you’re like uh. wobbling. like the little bubbles in lava lamps.” He has no idea what a “lava lamp” is- but it sounds epic, he’s curious about seeing one- but he understands the assessment. And that’s true. He can barely keep his eyelids up, and feels like his knees will give anytime now. Dumbass fat body.  
“do you? have s’mthin’ to do today, i mean ?” He yawns, feeling way too tired for someone who just roused.   
“Yeah. I gotta set breakfast with what Mommy prepared yesterday, then since it’s saturday, we got the whole day to take care of the laundry, then we got uuh, I don’t know anymore, is it cleaning the bathroom or the kitchen, today ?” She wonders the last part to herself, caught up in deep thoughts.  
Well that sounds. Exhausting. Thanks stars he’s not invited to join, apparently.

"Do you want me to get you some breakfast back when I can ?" She suddenly asks, happy for coming up with the suggestion herself.   
He's taken aback, still between awakeness and slumber, but snaps out of it. "sure... if you have anything ?" How long the free food will keep coming for no reason, he wonders. But he won't voice that.   
"Anything you'd... ah, I was going to ask what you'd like but there probably won't be too much choice, ahah." She isn't allowed to choose other food than they have out for her, she knows that, silly.   
"anything would be good..." He's not even hungry yet, but the prospect of not knowing when the next meal would be comes back with a cold clutch in his midsection. So he couldn't miss this chance.   
"Hm... Normally, we have eggs and bacon, if it isn't toasts and waffles..."   
Oh shit yeah he wants that. His mouth waters- how the mechanisms of it do that even though he's got no utility for it, he'll never know- and he knows he'd love it. He never tasted any of this, but eggs he smelled, and it smells so nice, and bacon, that's meat, right ? Pork, or chicken ? Not sure, but the last time he had meat... Well it was the ham yesterday, but before that.. He's not sure if he doesn't remember, or doesn't want to…

“well uh.. good luck ?” He doesn’t know what to add. Kind of out of his routine here.  
“Ah ah thanks, it’s fine really, just the usual.” She smiles, and there’s a pause, that grows somewhat tense as she keeps staring at him. When he’s about to snap his fingers at her, she continues, voice assured, “You should stay in the room the whole time.”  
“uh?”  
“Daddy and Mommy. They can’t see you. You need to stay in the room. And if they come in- they do that sometimes, when they want to check on my stuff, i don’t know why they do that they know I don’t like it- if they come in, y-you need to hide. But not behind the pillows.”  
“u-uum… okay…”  
“Because that’s where Mommy always checks first, she thinks that’s where I put my diary.”  
“alright ?”  
“But I don’t keep a diary anymore now. My secrets are better in my head.” She’s staring at nothing as she finishes on that. Pea is just a tiny lil bit creeped out.

When she’s going down the stairs, he’s still reeling over that creepy conversation.  
He can’t sleep right away after that ominous warning, but it’s not because she told him to hide, he knows the basics of survival, thanks you very much, no, what freaks him out is a child knowing to warn him against her parents- what kind of fucking house is that. That’s not. How humans kids feel about parents ? Human parents don’t… They aren’t supposed to make their kids jittery like that, that and what happened yesterday, what kind of fucked up family did he end up in ? That just proves he really need to leave asap.   
But right now the bed’s comfy, and uuh he can’t leave when they’re all up and going down here so. Yeah. He’ll just go back to sleep. But not in the bed though, not if he risks getting discovered.

After a few look around the room, he decides the closet will do, and soon he’s snoring quietly between two piles of sweaters on the upper shelves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he does a lot of sleeping.
> 
> short, i know, but i have no big plan, and write what comes to mind. it'll be slow, but still a journey. thanks you for hanging around for part of it ! and happy pride ! take good care.

**Author's Note:**

> not going to be discontinued, but many hiatus, yes, oops ! thanks for reading !


End file.
